


Rehearsal

by RavenGrey



Category: Staged
Genre: David John Tennant, M/M, Masturbation, Michael Christopher Sheen, Phone Sex, Video Sex, Voyeurism, video chatting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24712990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenGrey/pseuds/RavenGrey
Summary: David had expected a complainathon with his co-star when he'd seen the notif bubble, ready to tear Simon a new one, but instead he gets quite the surprise.
Relationships: Michael Sheen/David Tennant
Comments: 24
Kudos: 141





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a minute ya'll but this show revitalized me. please lemme know if I missed any errors or if the formats wonky 
> 
> hope i did em justice
> 
> enjoy c;

David’s considering beginning to contemplate maybe going for a run when he notices the notification flashing at the bottom of the screen. He can’t help the delight that swoops through him when he sees that it’s Michael. Perfect timing, that run will just have to wait. Double damn.

  
“Michael!” He clicks open the window with a regretful tsk, settling into the chair in front of his laptop. Michael pops up in his box, eyes focused not on the camera but on whatever it is he’s pulling up. The camera is angled so David can see all of him, save for everything below the knee. His wild curls halo his head, midday light coming in through the window and casting him in a warm honey glow. He’s on mute, so David’s not sure what he’s saying, but there’s that devious twinkle that’s almost always present.

  
Naturally, he can’t be up to any good. Laptop version of a butt-dial? David briefly considers hanging up but the urge to snoop is too strong. He cranes his head, trying to listen even though he knows it's muted. He watches Michael’s lips move as he talks to someone out of view. Anna comes into frame, fitted for jogging with Lyra cozy in a sling. Michael gets a forehead kiss and blows air kisses as they move out of box range. Michael waits until the door has closed after them to return to his search.

  
“Heeey.” David can’t help the smile that steals over his face, making his cheeks apple. He snaps his fingers in front of the camera and waves a hand, trying to get Michael’s attention. His brows crinkle when he doesn’t get a response, mouth twisting into a pout.

  
“Mikeeey.” He drones, going for annoying and managing it quite well. Nothing. Michael catches his full bottom lip between his teeth, cheeks beginning to go a rosy pink the longer he scrolls. He licks his lips and momentarily derails David’s barely railed train of thought. What in the fuck is he looking at? Like i/that/i especially?

  
“Mike?” He taps his camera, knowing it won’t help but doing it anyways.

“Miiike.” He catches the tip of his tongue between his teeth, really considering disconnecting but having the damnedest time actually doing it.  
His eyebrows abscond to his hairline when Michael lifts his hips just enough to tug his sweatpants down to his knees, leaving him in his boxers. He reclines, like a Monarch on their throne, and returns focus to whatever it is he’s got on the screen.

  
His mouth flops open, a truly strangled noise coming out of him when Michael slides his other hand down his stomach and squeezes himself through the tent in his rainbow llama boxers. In a far away part of his brain he mourns the fact that he’ll never get to bring up Michael’s exciting undies, ever. The other part is short-circuiting, an electric sizzle zooming straight to his nethers. He scrubs a hand through his hair, sending his hair scrunchie flying. He presses his eyelids with his palms till he’s dizzy, the dark lingering a few seconds when he drops his hands. David can’t keep his eyes off the screen, pulse racing.

  
Michael’s mouth falls open, eyes closing briefly. He palms himself again, knees falling open. His shirt is pushed up to his neck, exposing the curves of his hips and lower belly. His hand briefly dips inside the boxer slit, teasing, and before he goes back to caressing the hard line of his arousal through the thin fabric. He’d obviously found what he was searching for, because his other hand leaves the mouse and follows the curve of his ribcage to roll one of his nipples into hardness. He pays the other one the same attention, belly moving with his quickened breaths.

  
David feels a little yucky, letting himself look like he is but he can’t tear his eyes away. He’s rock hard and really regretting some things but not all of them. He’s glad he’s wearing sweatpants, dick lying heavy against his thigh. There’s a darker grey stain where the tip presses against the fabric, pre-come smearing where it bumps anytime he moves. He’s glad he’s in his office, door shut. He feels hot all over, back of his neck blazing. He takes a sip of water from the mug, eyes glued to the screen. He misses the edge of the table when he goes to set it down.

  
It explodes into face shards and David can’t help but throw up his hands sadly. He gazes mournfully down at the remnants from his chair.

  
“Oh come ON, for fucks sake really. My favorite mug. Shit.” His ankles and carpet are dampened and there’s shards of ceramic scattered on the floor.

  
His eyes cut back to the screen just in time to watch Michael reach fully inside, fingers wrapping around his length within the confines of his boxers. The tip is clearly outlined by the silky fabric, the ridge of his knuckles as he strokes himself. It’s a lot and David’s mouth is very dry. He’s given up trying to get his attention, resigned to fate as a lying pervert.

  
Michael makes it so much worse by beginning to buck up into his hand, stomach and thighs flexing with the effort. He keeps his pace slow, eyes falling shut when he slides his hand down to cradle his balls after a few lazy thrusts. He rolls them, squeezing, fingertips grazing his perineum. That makes him throw his head back, throat working beautifully on an open-mouthed groan.

  
David really, really wishes it weren’t on mute. The thought makes his ears burn and he gets squirrelies in his gut. He might have blown a fuse because he can’t seem to move. Mind going places that are just absolutely filthy while his body sits there shell-shocked.

  
Michael knows just what to do apparently, flicking the nipple he’s currently playing with and then the other so it doesn’t get lonely. He resumes stroking himself, circle of his hand tight. He leaves his nipples alone finally and David heaves out a slightly relieved breath only to suck it back in when Michael twists his hand through his hair and tugs. It arches his neck back, Adams' apple bobbing on a thrilled groan.

  
It’s not fair and David’s dick twitches, arousal snaking sharp through him. He’s so tempted to give in, to touch himself right there in his office, door unlocked. But there’s a guilt that won’t go away, a dirty feeling. Looking doesn’t feel like the end of the world but his insides swoop riotously when his thoughts stray to touching. He’s earned a long shower after this and for the millionth time he considers closing the laptop and banishing this sexy arse-hole.

  
Michael looks directly into the camera for a few searing seconds. His pupils are huge, iris a thin sliver. He looks down, back to the screen, lashes to his full cheeks.

  
For a jealous second David wants to know what he’s looking at. Not that it matters, it’s none of his fucking business.

  
Michael bites his lip, cheeks somehow getting pinker. With a cheeky smile he pulls himself free of his boxers, tip of his dick flushed and slick with pre-come. It angles up towards his stomach, kissing it occasionally.

  
David’s heart is doing a funky little tap dance in his chest, at least that’s what it feels like. He looks, of course he does, committing it to memory. There’s a vein standing out on the side and his mouth waters. He feels mesmerized, watching the head of Michael’s cock disappear into the circle of his hand. He strokes himself base to tip, taking his sweet time. He twists his wrist, grinding into his hand. His breathing is getting more and more erratic, alternating between open mouth gasps and clenching his teeth. His eyes slam shut after a few more thrusts, thighs and stomach quivering. His fingers spasm where they’re still clenched in his hair. His lips work silently, head thrashing a little. His hand has stilled mostly, gripping at the base tightly. He’s close, heat coiled tightly in his gut. He loosens the circle of his hand, sliding his fingers back up his sensitive shaft and thumbs his leaking tip. He smears the slick there in a loose circle, teasing the underside of his head with just his fingertips.

  
It makes him shudder, the feather light sensation setting off goose-bumps. It takes some doing but he pries his open to make eye contact with the camera again. His hips buck one final time and he comes with a long, drawn-out groan. Thick spurts of come streak across his stomach and hips, collecting in his happy trail and slipping down the curve of his hips. A spurt makes it as far as the hollow of his throat, sticky and warm. He coaxes the last few drops, which dribble over his fingers and sits there, completely boneless with the most shit-eating grin on his face while he basks in the sun. He waits until he catches his breath, a good minute or two, and finally cuts his eyes back to the camera.

  
The twinkle there is beyond apparent and David feels like an absolute sucker. Utterly bamboozled.

  
“That was your own personal showing of Petit Mort, starring Michael Sheen, written by Michael Christopher Sheen, produced by, hazard a guess, that’s right Michael Sheen!” His voice is deeper, just a little huskier and David can’t help the shudder that ripples through him.

  
Michael throws a wink to the camera and absently trails two fingers through the mess on his stomach. Holding eye contact with the webcam, he licks them clean with a ridiculous amount of care. When he’s finished he tucks his softening cock back into his boxers.

  
“Bastard. You absolute bastard.” David says in awe, thoughts muddy with arousal and body aching.

He disconnects abruptly with a bitchy little wave. His mad silhouette is frozen for a few seconds, a truly satisfied smile on his face.

David stares at his blank screen, frozen in shock. The disconnect screen stares back and he can see his own flabber-gasted face reflected back at him.


	2. Practice Makes Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David's retaliation.

It takes him a while to stop staring at his blank screen, peeved the whole time. Peeved and in a state.

The cheeky  _ rat _ . The conniving, sexy bastard. What an absolute twat.

He wishes he’d thought of it. Michael's got the upper hand now and it nettles  in his soul. The ball is in his court and he’s honestly not sure what to do with it. It's a very heavy ball. He'd rather not drop it, since Michael's upped the ante considerably. 

He shuts his laptop and pushes away from the desk, stands, and sits back down with a sigh. He braces his elbows against his knees, head once again in his hands. He wrestles with himself for a second, weaseling out at the last moment. He really waffles, swinging back and forth in his desk chair while staring at the closed laptop. He gets up finally and heads to the door. 

He peeks into the hallway, checking for any sign of life. He feels something when he locks the door, mostly excitement partly thirst for revenge. There’s also the fear of being walked in on. He thinks he can hear the shower going but he locks the door anyways and heads back to the desk. 

He considers trying to ring him back thro ugh the video-chat, wanting answers but knowing that Michael’s gonna Michael.

It had looked like Anna had returned. He figures that’s why Michael had vamoosed so quickly. That and he’s an arse-hole. Sometimes. Most times.

_ Fuck _ . He’s debating his retaliation, heart beat pounding in his ears. A phone call maybe? Old school. Would he even pick up? Anna would probably be in the shower. He could leave a voicemail, but the last thing Michael needs is blackmail material.

His paranoia gets the better of him, the silence too loud, so he starts up a playlist of his most listened to songs and tries to relax. His bluetooth doesn’t connect to the speaker automatically so he has to fiddle with that. By the time he figures it out, he’s less than relaxed and back at peeved. The background noise helps a little but he’s got too much energy to sit still for long. He’s sweaty even though the ac’s running. His clothes are sticking to his skin unpleasantly and he tugs at them restlessly. 

He rummages through his drawers till he finds a half full bottle of lotion. It takes a little shimmying but he gets his pants and underwear down around his ankles. Looking down at the tops of his hairy thighs and exposed crotch, he realizes he’s rocking a very 70’s look. 

Man-scaping hadn’t even entered his mind in a long time but it does now. He’d have to trim before their next video chat for sure. He unzips his jacket and shrugs out of it, fabric pooling at the back of the chair. He’s not wearing a shirt, completely bare save for his pants down around his ankles.

The cool air licks at his overheated skin, making him shudder. He’s doubting himself now, worrying his bottom lip. He has to stop himself from gnawing, nerves jangled. He warms a handful of lotion in his palms thoughtfully, giving himself time to listen to the voice in his head hollering at him to put his damn pants back on and pretend it didn’t happen. 

He can’t help but cast a furtive glance towards the door, every little noise from outside making him tense up. He spreads his knees as far as the chair allows, feet planted on the ground. His whole body tightens when he grips himself, a hissed moan slipping through his teeth. He slicks his hand up his length, toes curling in delight.

Just the thought of calling Michael has him burning up, cheeks flaming and the back of his neck hot. He strokes himself leisurely, fist tight, and lets himself be noisy now that there's background noise. He loosens his fingers and experiments between quick and slow strokes. His stomach muscles are twitching, a few beads of pre-come dripping onto his stomach.

The slow, loose stroke produces the most obscene noise. He slicks his hand again, too impatient to warm it. He gasps from the cold, stomach and thigh muscles tightening in response. He slides his phone closer on the table and goes to his most recent contacts. 

He psyches himself up only to back out at the last second 4 times before he finally smashes Michael’s smiling little face with his thumb. 

The dialing screen pops up and his insides bottom out. He nearly hangs up, thumb waffling over the screen. He taps on the speaker-phone and listens to the dial tone. He’s slightly mortified with himself, for going through with this. He doesn’t cancel the call though, finger hovering over the end icon just in case it goes to voicemail. Thinking about accidentally leaving a voicemail makes him stop breathing out of panic.

It only rings twice and Michael picks up. It sounds like he’s moving, breath puffing against the speaker. David hears a door being shut and what sounds like a body being heaved into a rolly chair. “Hellooo?”

Hearing Michael’s voice sets off a riot of butterflies in his stomach. He keeps quiet, sticking to his guns. He swallows, loudly, mouth so very very dry. The first upwards stroke of his hand is too tight, a near stranglehold. He loosens the circle of his hand and tries to relax his hips.

The next stroke makes a wet, intimate noise. It burns David’s ears, something white hot snaking through him. A moan builds in his throat and he smothers it there without thinking. He silently swears at himself and adds a twist of his wrist that draws another sound from him. He groans loudly, rubbing circles with his thumb over the head. He pauses for just a moment, listening keenly to the shuffling coming from the other side of the phone.

Michael hasn’t noticed yet and he’s struggling to keep his nerve. It’s not too late to chalk it up to a butt-dial. But _ fair _ is _ fair _ ? Right?

It’s a little exhilarating, the slow rise and fall of his hand and the resultant lewd sounds. He starts up an easy rhythm, his own breaths echoing back loudly in his ears. He uses his free hand to roll and pinch a nipple, teasing. Goose-bumps break out on his arms and when he flicks the hard peak the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. He presses his lips together, a loud hum leaving him. He switches, paying the other nipple the same attention and not stopping until he’s arching into the touches. He eases up, trailing his fingers down his sternum, over the dips of his ribs. 

“Notes?” Michael’s cheeky voice rings out from his spot on the table. “I personally felt like it was a  _ flawless _ performance but I am open to critique.”

_Are you really now?_ David lets him ramble, breath starting back up with a stilted, silent laugh. He shakes his head and props both his knees up on either side of the phone, braced against the desk. He knows it’ll just eat Michael up, being ignored and is incredibly glad he didn’t hang up. He goes back to toying with a nipple, rolling it until the sensation is too much and then switching to the other.

“David?” Michael asks, sounding annoyed. There’s a huff of breath, like a heaved sigh into the receiver. “Daaave. Are you there?” 

That flustered tinge in his voice puts a beaming smile on David’s face. He keeps his eyes closed and lets his head tip back to rest against the back of the chair. He slides his hand up, fingers tripping over his collarbone. He feels himself swallow against his palm and fits his hand just under his chin, where his pulse points are. He can feel the frantic beat against his fingertips and feels dizzy.

He’s embarrassed by how close he is, heat coiling tight in his belly and tingling all throughout him. He slides the circle of his hand to the base of his cock, tightening the ‘o’ of his fingers and squeezing. He can’t help the loud gasp, body drawn tight, and lets the whimpering moans stuck in his throat free. He can’t keep the balls of his feet on the ground, up on his tippy-toes as the waves of pleasure recede. He’s seeing little spots, eyelids fluttering open when there’s a pointed pause from Michael.

Almost as if he’s had a revelation, a little light-bulb going off over his head.

“Have you… have you heiney hollered me David?” Michael asks, delighted and scandalized. “ _ Oh _ .”

_ Bingo _ . David grins, smug. He takes a second to re-slick both of his hands and grips his shaft with his dominant hand. He cups his balls with the other, rolling them in his palm.

Now that he’s really got Michael’s attention, he goes back to stroking himself slowly. It’s almost hard to listen, the soft wet noises and his panting breaths echoing back loudly in his own ears. 

Michael’s quiet for once on his end, save for his heavy breathing. His mouth has to be close to the mic because occasional static intersperses the gasp of his breath. 

He can’t be sure, but he thinks he hears a frantic shuffle to the door and the sound of fabric rustling. He’s really straining, but he swears he hears the tiniest little moan come from the other end of the line. His brain doesn’t really know what to do with that knowledge, but his body sure does. 

“Ngkk.” The noise is out before he can help it, followed by a breathy moan that slips through his clenched teeth. His whole body goes tight, feet braced against the floor.

The first streak of cum splashes right up to his chin and he opens his eyes briefly in surprise. It’s so hard to keep his eyes open, pleasure drawing him up tight and washing through him. He watches the tip of his dick disappear into the circle of his hand, hips rolling to meet the thrust of his hand. The next few hot streaks hit his stomach, droplets of cum collecting in his happy trail and slipping down the curve of his hip. He’s twitching all over by the time he coaxes the last few pearly drops out, thumb smearing through the slick. 

“Aaaand that was the David Man Cometh. Thank you and goodnight.” David murmurs, trying not to doze and only just succeeding. He cracks open an eye and jabs at the red button, ending the call.

“David? Re _ ally _ . David?” Michael can’t help the outrage in his voice. He’s harder than a diamond in an ice storm and David hung up. The gall. 

“Well played sir.” Michael says, lacing his fingers together over his stomach and beginning to plot about his rebuttal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couldn't help myself x]
> 
> comments and kudos much appreciated, thanks for the love it keeps me writing <3


End file.
